Unethical Experimentation
by Sheyrena Wyrsabane
Summary: Steve agrees to experimentation in hopes of recreating the super serum but the longer the experiments go on, the more the scientists forget that Steve's a human being, and things escalate. Tony gets wind of what happens and goes to find Steve. Steve/Tony friendship. Full warnings inside.


Warnings: There is torture, psychological manipulation, abuse of patriotism, thoughts of suicide, unethical experimentation, basically putting Steve through hell. Please read with caution. It starts of tamer and then escalates.

A/N: Also, in case any of you are curious, I'm not the one who wrote _Worthy_; though, apparently my sister and I both are a fan of Tony rescuing people he cares about in a dramatic fashion.

* * *

When men in lab coats approach him, Steve doesn't think to say no. They have a genuine curiosity about the serum, what can Steve do, can it be replicated, and Steve wants to help as much as he can.

He's been through tests like these before, when the serum was first administered, but technology has progressed since then, and if they can find a way to make more people like him, he's willing to undergo whatever they ask of him.

It starts off innocently enough. He goes down to the basement of a warehouse in Brooklyn, to a bunker made specifically for testing him, and he's sat down on a table. They draw blood, collect other samples, weight him, measure him, nothing more strenuous than a physical.

The young doctor smiles at Steve when he comes in, ask him how his day's going, how training's going, keep up a steady stream of chatter while Steve runs on the treadmill, hooked up to machines that spit out information Steve can't interpret.

Dr. Zimbrado isn't as friendly, but he's brilliant, and Steve knows that sometimes genius doesn't leave a lot of room for social niceties. Steve doesn't mind, though, because he's not here to make friends. He's here because good soldiers don't just do what they're told, they do what they're asked if it will benefit the greater good, and Steve is a good soldier.

* * *

"Where are you off to in such a rush?" Tony asks noticing the way Steve tries to sneak past him. Tony doesn't understand why Steve thinks he could ever sneak anywhere. He's over six feet of solid American muscle and would stand out anywhere. The man managed to stand out in the army which was all about conformity and okay, maybe it had been the star-spangled uniform, but still, Steve's great plan back in the 40s was to knock on HYDRA's door. The guy isn't known for his stealth.

"SHIELD stuff," Steve answers. The testing isn't being done by SHIELD, it's being done by some branch of the army, but SHIELD had to have given them permission and so it's not really a lie. Steve doesn't like lying, especially to his friends, but he's not sure how Tony would feel about the testing. Howard had been on the original testing team, and he'd been mostly for it, but Tony isn't Howard, and Steve doesn't want Tony trying to put a stop to this.

Steve doesn't mind the testing and the needles and the feeling like he's a rat in a cage, because all he's ever wanted is to help people, and this is the ultimate way to help people. Worst case scenario, he learns what his body can handle so he knows whether he can run into a burning building or chase an enemy for three hours or whatever else they're going to test. Best case scenario, they'll be able to replicate the serum.

"It can't be so important you're not going to eat," Tony says. "Come on, I'll make you an omelet. Can't have America's icon going hungry."

Steve's stomach constricts painfully at the mention of food. They're testing his body's limits in terms of food deprivation right now. Next will be liquid deprivation. He focuses on facts, because those help distract him from the gnawing hunger and that Tony is offering to do something nice. Steve wants to accept because Tony rarely offers to cook people food, and Steve doesn't want to hurt his feelings, but he can't. He can't ruin the experiment.

Tony frowns as Steve flinches at the mention of food. "You okay?"

Steve forces himself to smile. Stay calm. Act as if everything's fine. "Great. If I'm not around for a few days, don't worry about it." He's done a good job resisting the temptation to eat once he's out from the watchful eyes of the scientists, but his resolve won't hold out forever so he's going to check himself into the bunker.

"SHIELD stuff?" Tony asks, rolling his eyes. "You're not at their beck and call, you know."

"I know," Steve says, and it's the truth. He's part of the experiments, because he wants to be. He could say no any time.

* * *

"I think it's been long enough," Richard says casting an uneasy eye through the window. Steve Rogers is curled up in the fetal position, too weak to move, too weak to even beg for food like he had been a few hours ago.

"He's only gone 50 days," Zimbardo says, his tone cold, clinical. "Death doesn't usually occur in humans until 61 days."

"He's not completely human," Richard reminds. "Maybe his metabolism has had some effect on why he's not able to hold out longer. His muscle is rapidly deteriorating, his fat is already gone. He's going to die within days if we don't do something."

"Emotions are weakness," Zimbardo says. "You need to keep your mind rational. Perhaps it would help you to refer to it as Experiment X-25."

"It?" Richard asks looking back at the man huddled on the floor. "X-25?"

"I can always get a new assistant if this proves to be too much for you."

Richard swallows his protests. "No, sir. I can do this."

"Good. You have such potential, I would hate to see it wasted. I need you to draw up the paperwork to explain where Captain America has been for the past three weeks and why he's going to be near-starved when he returns to the Tower. No need to raise suspicions in SHEILD."

"Of course, sir." Richard hesitates. "Does Director Fury know what we're doing?"

"He's trusted us to use Steve Rogers for missions of national importance. I don't bore him with the details."

Zimbardo turns back to his notes, and Richard goes out to make up an insurgent situation that had resulted with Captain America alone in the desert. He makes a call to the CIA to arrange for it to look like it had actually happened. He doesn't want anyone poking around and finding out that they're not sending Captain America to fight.

* * *

"What do you mean confidential?" Tony demands. He wants to grab Steve's shoulders and shake some sense into him, but Steve looks so fragile, he's afraid he'd break him. "You disappear without a word, come back half-dead, and won't tell me what's going on? Who the hell sent you alone on a mission?"

"It's confidential," Steve repeats. He forces himself to take slow spoonfuls of his soup. He wants to eat everything in the Tower; steak, potatoes, green beans, hotdogs, baked beans, more steak, cake, pie, anything and everything he can get his hands on, but that's dangerous. His stomach is small, too small for him to eat the way he wants to.

His hands shake, barely enough energy in his body to bring his spoon up to his mouth. He doesn't mind the experimentation, but he doesn't like the aftermath. He's pathetically weak, and he knows that this is also a test, how long it takes him to get back into peak fighting condition, but what if someone attacks while he's helpless? What if people get hurt while he's recovering?

"You know I can hack the SHIELD databases," Tony threatens.

Steve shrugs. If Tony looks he'll find that Steve had been in the Afghani desert. The real information is with the army where Tony would never look. And if he did look, it is labeled innocuously in a folder called Project X-25 and there is no mention of Steve or even the serum.

Steve doesn't think too hard about why all this secrecy is necessary. It's not like anything wrong is going on, but then he remembers the talk he had with Dr. Zimbrado. The experiments were originally Howard's, and Tony would probably want to be involved if he heard they were being done again, and Steve doesn't want Tony to have to be a part of this. Steve's sure it's difficult for Dr. Zimbrado to watch him slowly starve to near-death, and he doesn't even have any emotional attachment to Steve. Steve and Tony are friends, and Steve could never ask Tony to help hurt him like that.

"You're infuriating, you know that?" Tony asks. "Also, I'm going to take great pleasure in nursing you back to health."

Steve head snaps up. "Excuse me?"

Tony grins. "After weeks of your lectures on how I need to take better care of myself and spend less time in the labs and more time sleeping and eat the correct number of fruits and vegetables every day, I'm going to get my revenge. Now, finish your soup so I can tuck you into bed."

"Don't you have a new source of renewable energy to invent or something?"

"It can wait," Tony says and Steve thinks he can detect a bit of genuine concern under Tony's pleasure that their situations are finally reversed.

* * *

"Experiment X-25 is showing signs of slowing down," Richard says his voice as dead as Zimbardo's.

Last experiment had been a test of how fast X-25 could run and how long it could hold that pace. Now they're testing how long it can hold a steady pace. So far it has been 72 hours. Actually 72 hours, 36 minutes, 22 seconds. It has begun to slow though, so Richard scribbles down the numbers.

"Keep the treadmill running," Zimbardo says. "I want to see how long until it collapses."

"Yes sir."

* * *

Steve's disoriented when he comes to, but he recognizes the sharp glare of the naked light above him. He's in the bunker. He tries to remember what test they'd been running this time, but his brain is too muddled.

He stretches out and can't help his groan as his entire body protests. He's sore in a muscle deep, aching sort of way that he can't ever remember feeling. How had they managed this? Running. Right.

He remembers the beginning of his run but then he'd put himself on autopilot, because he was bored. Running in place for hours was mind numbingly painful. He'd let his mind drift and his body do what it was supposed to do until suddenly it got hard.

He wasn't used to having to push himself to accomplish a simple task like running, but he was eager for the challenge. Mind over body, a test to see which would win out. He forced his legs to keep moving, his arms to keep pumping, his lungs to keep pulling in even breaths, and he thought about why he was doing this. America. Science. Duty. He wants to be a good soldier.

He kept running thinking of the army of super soldiers these tests might let them build and all the good they could do. Earthquake relief in Haiti, tsunami relief in Japan, building homes for the homeless in Mexico, even America.

Eventually his mind had been unable to focus on anything except putting the next foot forward. Not long after that, he hadn't been able to think about anything at all. And now he's on the floor of the testing room.

His body protests as he pushes up into a sitting position. His muscles are tight and don't like to move and any small twitch hurts. His chin is throbbing. He touches it, feels the texture of healing skin. He must have fallen while the treadmill was still on.

He pulls himself to his feet and promptly falls back down when his legs give out on him. He whimpers and wonders where the scientists are. They're always watching, always taking notes. Is this a new test? He wants something to eat. He wants something to ease the pain. He wants to go home.

He has no idea how he's going to explain this one to Tony.

* * *

"I don't understand," Tony says. "What happened to you?"

Steve shows off cuts and burns and scrapes that are already healing. "Land mine."

It was the only thing that could explain how Steve, who never gets sore, is experiencing full body pain. He doesn't like lying to Tony, and he hadn't liked getting cut up and burned to sell the story, but he doesn't want Tony to know the truth. Tony wouldn't understand. He can test the Iron Man armor without hurting himself, but Steve's body is his armor, and Steve needs to test it, and yeah, it might hurt a little, but it's for America so that makes it okay.

Tony crosses his arms over his chest. "A land mine? What the hell, Steve? Why do you keep going on solo missions that almost get you killed?"

"Valuable information," Steve says and that, at least, isn't a lie. He leans heavily on the kitchen table. It had taken almost all of his energy to make it to the Tower. He's hungry, and he wants to sleep, but he's not sure he'll be able to manage either of those.

"You're an idiot," Tony says. "I'm coming with you next time."

"You can't."

"Right. Confidential." Tony throws open the refrigerator and the jars on the door rattle against each other. "Can I at least get you something to eat? Is that allowed?"

Steve deserves the anger. He's been lying to his teammate, his friend, and even if it's for a good reason, it's still wrong.

"That would be nice, thank you."

"You can't keep doing this," Tony says. "The Avengers are a team, remember? You weren't even a solo show back in the 40s. Why the sudden need to do everything on your own? And if you say confidential I will throw you out the window."

"You can't pick me up," Steve says.

"With the suit I could, and you don't look like you'd put up much of a fight."

No, Steve thinks sinking down into a chair. There isn't any fight left in him.

* * *

Steve looks at the table in front of him. There's a shot glass full of yellow liquid in front of him. Zimbardo has one full of an amber liquid, and Steve can smell the alcohol from here.

Zimbardo picks up his shot glass, and the twist of his mouth is almost a smile. "To America."

Steve picks up his shot glass at the reminder of why he's doing this. He's a member of the United States Army, according to Zimbardo he's the property of the army, of America. What he's doing is saving lives, and if he gets damaged in the process, that's okay, because soon there will be dozens of super soldiers to replace him if Steve gets broken.

Steve clinks his glass against Zimbardo's, careful that none of the liquid spills over. As a soldier, he made the decision that he'd be willing to die for his country. He hopes it won't come to that, but that's the thing about experiments, you don't know what the results are going to be.

He downs the poison, and there's no burn down his throat like if it had been alcohol. It slides, cool and almost refreshing, hiding its true intentions behind a sweet promise of lemon and sugar.

The deception doesn't last long. The poison has barely reached his stomach when his throat starts to constrict. His eyes feel like they're popping out of his head. His scalp begins to burn. He claws at his throat because it feels like there's something pressing on his skin, choking off his breath. He gouges into his flesh, trying to rip it off, but his throat still closes. He needs to try harder. He needs to—everything goes black.

Zimbardo watches the body on the floor convulse twice before it stills. He refills his shot glass and raises it to the unmoving form. To America and science.

* * *

There's something about being poisoned and almost dying that makes you question your loyalty to your country. Of course, Steve feels guilty the first time doubt pops into his head. How can he want to back out? How can he say no to the country that has given him everything? He wouldn't be Captain America without science, and he needs to repay that debt. Besides, Captain America has to have faith in America. Has to be patriotic. Has to be willing to put everything on the line. It's who he is. He's America's soldier, and he's determined to be her best one.

Everything is fuzzy when he first wakes up from the poisoning. He's put through a series of tests and someone drives him back to the Tower. He's vaguely aware of stumbling toward the elevator and he thinks he hits the right button, but the 2 and the 5 look so similar to him right now, and he must have done something wrong, because he stumbles onto a floor with cubicles and people and that isn't right.

"Steve?"

Steve knows that voice. He looks up and tries to focus, tries to make his eyes see who's in front of him. A hand touches his arm and he jerks back. Someone's touching him. Friend? Foe? Man in a white coat? Not the man in the white coat. He stumbles backward.

"Steve?" the voice comes again, hesitant, concerned. "Steve, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you."

The fingers touch him again, gentle, and he doesn't flinch. Why does he know this voice? Why does his head hurt so bad? Is memory loss an after effect of the poison? No, he just needs to sleep. He needs a lot of sleep.

He can hear voices talking next to him, but they're too far away for him to understand. A woman and a man. They're both angry but not at each other. They're both scared. Did Steve scare them? He didn't mean to. He only wants to protect people. Save them.

"You can't save anyone if you're dead," the male voice says—Tony, Steve's brain remembers. Had Steve spoken out loud? A firm hand wraps around Steve's arm. "I'm going to take you upstairs. You need to rest."

Tony tugs on Steve's arm. "Come on. To the elevator."

A good solider follows orders, Steve thinks. He wants to be a good soldier. He forces his feet to move. If he goes to the elevator then he's a good soldier. A soldier his country can be proud of. He smiles.

"You're so out of it," Tony says as he punches the buttons for the Avengers' floor. "What did they do to you this time?"

Steve can't remember his cover story. What had happened to him? Insurgents? Or spies? Or an enemy government? His head lolls back against the elevator wall. "I'm tired."

"You're always tired these days," Tony says. As soon as he gets Steve into bed he's calling Coulson. He knows better than to try and keep Steve from his stupid missions, because the man has a superhero complex that somehow the rest of the superheroes have avoided, but this solo shit has gone on long enough. Tony is going in as back-up next time.

"Lots of work," Steve slurs. They've moved out of the elevator, but his bed is far away. Too far away. He wants to collapse right here.

So he does.

"Steve!" Tony looks down at the man at his feet. No, man is too grown-up for the lost eyes staring up at him, the silly drugged out grin. He looks like a boy right now. A lost, confused boy. "You need to get up. I can't carry you."

"I'm tired," Steve says and he curls into a ball.

Tony shakes Steve's shoulder. "Come on, you can sleep once you're in your bed."

"Too far."

"Too far?" Tony throws his hands up in the air. "You're a super soldier! You've been running around solving what seems like every international crisis that's occurred for the past six months. Get to your feet and walk to your bed!"

Steve lifts his head even though it's a lot of effort. "Is that an order, sir?"

"An order?" Tony stops shouting, all of his anger suddenly rushing out of him. He kneels next to Steve. "No, I'm not your superior officer. I'm your friend. Please, you'll sleep better if you're in your bed."

"Here's fine."

Tony knows that he's not going to win this argument. He contemplates suiting up just to carry Steve to bed, but he's annoyed with Steve's stubbornness. It's been going on for sixth months, and he's vindictive enough to make Steve pay for it with a sore back when he wakes up from his impromptu nap.

He's not vindictive enough to be completely heartless though, and Tony grabs a throw pillow and blanket from the couch. He tucks the pillow under Steve's head and wraps the blanket around him.

"You're a super soldier, but you're still a human being remember that," Tony says.

Steve laughs, a drowsy chuckle and murmurs something that sounds like X-25. Tony frowns and goes to consult Jarvis. They have some research to do.

* * *

Steve's usual methods for coping aren't working. He's tried telling himself to stay still, to endure for America. When that doesn't work. he reminds himself that he's been given orders and a good soldier always follows orders. He's not supposed to give anything up. Protect the secrets. Protect his country. They can have his body as long as he protects what's important.

Only, he doesn't remember what's important anymore.

There's a hood over his face, blocking his sense of sight, muting his sense of smell, and it heightens his sense of hearing and his sensitivity to touch.

His body tenses in anticipation of the snap of the whip, and it makes it that much more painful when the leather cuts into his back. His tears and snot and cries for it to please just stop soak into the thick black material over his head.

He wonders if there's enough loose material that he can pull it into his mouth. Would it choke him or would his captors rip the hood off before he can stop breathing?

The whip bites into the thick muscles of his shoulder with enough force that he can feel the pain reverberate through his body. He tugs on his hands, raised over his head and bound to the bar on the ceiling. One of his shoulder pops. Agony burns through his limb. He screams.

"You're easier than I thought you'd be." A deep chuckle. A hand grabs the hood and yanks Steve's head back. The fine point of a knife trails along his neck. It's a teasing touch, at any point it could plunge in and end all this. Steve knows that's too much to hope for. "I was sure you would take longer to break."

Steve swallows and it pushes his adam's apple against the blade. He can feel the tip of the knife slide into his skin. He pushes forward, trying to get more contact. He knows which vein to cut, which will bleed out the fastest. He just needs to twist a little more and—

The knife pulls back. Another laugh. "Trying to end this? Suicide isn't very noble, dear Captain. But, if you really want to feel what this blade can do, who am I to keep that from you?"

The tip of the knife drags down his abdomen, against skin stretched taught between the cuffs chaining his wrists to the ceiling and his ankles to the floor. It's a ghost of a touch, almost like a caress, the soft brush of fingers, and his body strains to feel more. It tingles in anticipation, not realizing what's coming. The blade is thrust in, and Steve gasps and tries to curl in on himself, but his restraints hold and he only succeeds in ripping his other shoulder out of its socket.

He gasps for breath as his head falls forward. Breathe, soldier, it's going to be okay. Pain is weakness leaving the body. He can hurt your shell but not your soul. Physical pain is nothing. Protect the secret. Protect your country.

Be a good soldier.

A good soldier.

Good soldier.

Soldier.

* * *

Tony doesn't bother with phone calls. He doesn't want to give Coulson the opportunity to not pick up or to hang up or to hide. Tony wants to force Coulson to lie to his face so that he can feel no regret when he punches him out.

Steve has been gone for a month which is longer than any of his other secret trips, and Tony's worried. He knows it's ridiculous to worry about Captain America, but these missions have been dangerous. Steve has come back looking closer and closer to death each time, and a month is too long for a normal mission. Something's gone wrong, and Tony's going to find out what.

He's in the full Iron Man suit and SHIELD employees dive out of his way as he flies through the halls. He doesn't bother with Coulson's door, just powers through it, and he lands in front of Coulson's desk with bits of wood and sawdust settling around him.

Coulson looks up from his paperwork, unruffled. "That's quite an entrance, even for you, Stark."

Tony slams his hands on Coulson's desk, denting it. "I'm not in the mood for your shit, agent."

The first hint of concern appears in Coulson's eyes. He puts his papers flat on his desk and gives Tony his full attention. "What's wrong?"

Tony flips up his face mask. "Steve's missing."

Coulson lets himself relax, because he'd been expecting a crisis. Concern over a friend is easy to handle, even if Tony insisted on doing everything in an outlandish fashion. "He's not missing, he's on a mission. The words are close though."

Tony's eyes narrow at the mocking on Coulson's face, and he easily knocks Coulson's ancient desktop monitor against the wall. It sparks and sizzles as it crashes to pieces on the ground. "Do I look like I'm joking right now?"

Tony takes a minute to revel in the fear that's now leaked into Coulson's eyes. "That's right, you should be scared of me. Tell me where Steve is, and I'll leave."

"It's confidential."

Tony has never hated anything in his life more than he hates that word. In an instant he has Coulson pinned to the wall, one gloved hand wrapped around his neck, the other pulled back in a fist. "I won't hesitate to make this painful, but I'd much rather you tell me."

"Stark—Tony—what the hell is going on?" Coulson wheezes. He hopes someone noticed that Stark was a little crazier than usual and called for back-up, though Steve is the only one who can talk Tony down from his worst rages, and Steve is somewhere. Somewhere confidential.

"You keep sending Steve on suicide missions, and I'm worried you might have succeeded this time. Tell me where he is so I can rescue his dumb soldier ass."

"Suicide missions?" Coulson frowns. "Captain America? That doesn't make sense."

Tony relaxes his fist. "You don't know where he is?"

"It's confidential," Coulson repeats.

Tony takes a step back and Coulson slides to the floor, touching his neck to makes sure it's undamaged. "Even from you?"

Coulson rolls his eyes. "I don't know everything that goes on in America. He's with the army."

Tony weighs the chances that this is a trap, that Coulson is lying to him to get him to calm down. "Steve could be dying," Tony says as Jarvis scans Coulson's body. There's a spike of fear before his body mellows out. It didn't seem fake. Maybe Coulson doesn't know what's going on with Steve. That worries Tony more than the agent keeping secrets.

"I need you to tell me what X-25 means to you," Tony says.

"You just tried to kill me."

"I didn't try. If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead."

Coulson has to admit that Tony has a point. "X-25 you said?"

Tony nods. "Steve mentioned it when he was rather out of it. Also, turn off the alarm. I'm not going to get arrested today. I have a superhero to save."

Coulson's about to tell him to stop being so overdramatic when something clicks in his brain. X-25. Experiment X-25. Wasn't that the old code for the super-serum testing? He feels a chill go through his body. He turns the alarm off.

"You know something," Tony accuses. "Tell me."

"I'm surprised you don't know," Coulson says. "X-25 was the code for Howard's research on Steve."

"Research?" Tony asks, his voice dipping dangerously low. "Steve's a person, not a lab rat."

"People didn't see that in the 40s. He was the only successful super soldier. They wanted to test his capabilities and see if they could figure out how to replicate the serum."

"And they're doing it again?"

"I don't know," Coulson says. "The army wanted him to do some special ops stuff, and there was no reason for us to say no. They—" Coulson pauses. "Those bastards."

Tony leans in. "Tell me."

"They said they needed him to get information. I thought they meant to retrieve it, but they mean him. He's the information. They're testing on him again."

"Where?" There's no emotion in Tony's voice.

"I don't know," Coulson says, "but if you can get me the internet I can get you to the army database. You can hack it."

Tony looks over at Coulson. "You just told me to do something illegal."

"They're hurting Steve."

Tony nods and has Jarvis access the army database. From there, it's sickeningly easy to find out where Steve is being held.

* * *

Tony blasts through the bunker, taking a lot of satisfaction in the fact that a structure built to withstand a nuclear explosion can't keep him out. Alarms start blaring as soon as he strides through, debris falling around him.

Tony spies a man in a white lab coat, clutching his clipboard to his chest, eyes wide with fear. Tony grins and advances on him.

"Target has urinated itself," Jarvis tells him.

"Good."

Tony backhands the man. The body drops to the floor.

"Target is unconscious but still alive," Jarvis says.

"Pity."

It takes a little more effort to get through the next barricaded door, but Tony is good with electronics and soon the door is parting obligingly for him. What he sees makes him pause. He's in an observation room and through the window he can see a man in white lab coat that has been speckled with blood, circling a body hanging from the ceiling.

The body's face is covered in a black hood, and his skin is slick with sweat and blood, and he's shaking in his bonds, but Tony knows those muscles anywhere. Tony punches the window and shards of glass fall to the floor.

The man in the lab coat turns to see Iron Man, and he doesn't cower in fear like his assistant. He smiles and holds out the matches in his hand. "Would you like to take part in the experiment?"

Tony is shocked enough that he doesn't kill the man straight away. "What?"

"I'm Dr. Zimbardo. I'm in charge of testing the limits of Experiment X-25. Would you like to join me? I heard you have a brilliant mind. I've reduced X-25 to a quivering, mumbling mess, but I can't seem to get it give me the information I require. It might be impervious to torture. This is good to know."

Tony fires both repulsor beams at the man and at this close a distance, he evaporates before any part of his body can hit the wall.

"Sir, would you like me to—"

"No. Don't record that."

Tony rips off his gloves and his helmet and rushes over to Steve. He undoes his bonds, easing Steve to the ground. He's afraid to take off the hood, afraid to give a face to this nightmare, and it's with shaking hands that he manages to get the fabric off.

Steve blinks against the harshness of the light and Tony leans over him to block out the worst of it. There are tear tracks running down Steve's cheeks and blood and saliva dribbling out the corner of his mouth, but there's no mistaking his pleasure when he sees Tony.

"I was a good soldier," Steve says as Tony cradles him against the suit. "I didn't say anything." Doubt pushes the joy out of Steve's eyes. "Are you a trick?"

Tony's gut wrenches. "No, I'm not a trick. I'm here to save you. To bring you home."

Steve smiles again and lets his head drop to rest against the light of the arc reactor. "Because I was good."

"Too good," Tony says, running a hand through Steve's sweat soaked hair.


End file.
